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poetry

You are the Kintsugi of our fragments,
Golden Joiner, come and mend what has broken.
To the liberal transgender woman and the blue collar conservative, come.
To the factory farmer and the cow, come.
To me and to those for whom I have enmity, come.
To all who do not want to heal, who cannot find the way, come.
Oh Lady, please, I beg you.
In this hour when I am small and in the middle of my life,
in this place where my two hands can only do so many things,
paint gold between the broken pieces of the whole that was severed.

I've fleshed out two poem fragments this week and like them both. One I'll be submitting to a favorite speculative poetry market this morning, but the other isn't really speculative, and it isn't really Pagan either. It's been years since I submitted anything to a muggle poetry journal, but more importantly, I just don't know whether or not I want to submit this one anywhere, and not because I don't think it's good enough.